[300 powerstones Bonus chapter]
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The moment the Red-Eyed Orcs fell and their message soared into the sky, the truth dawned on the entire expedition. This had not been a mere assault—it had been a probe, a calculated test from the enemy.
Though the enemy lost a thousand elite Orcs, their goal had been achieved.
Their position was compromised.
Now, the Dark Lord knew where they were—and likely what they intended.
They had no time to spare.
If they failed to slay the dragon before Sauron's armies reached Erebor… and the two forces joined together, the result would be catastrophic. The allied host would be outmatched in every way.
The clock was ticking.
It was now late autumn—only one month remained until Durin's Day.
Their mission was immense.
In twenty days, they needed to evacuate Lake-town's entire population and prepare the battlefield for war.
There was no time to linger.
The very next day, King Thranduil dispatched a vanguard of one thousand Elven warriors, led by Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel, to accompany the expedition toward the Long Lake.
Before they departed, Kaen made a special request.
He asked Thranduil to send messengers to the Vales of Anduin, summoning his eighty royal guards and the siege-breaking weapon known as Heavy Breaker. They would rendezvous at Lake-town.
The company departed eastward, following the course of the Forest River.
After five days of steady march, they passed beyond the borders of the Woodland Realm and arrived at the shores of the Long Lake.
There, beside the water's edge, stood a weathered but well-maintained harbor. It had been built by the Elves, for trade had long flourished between the Woodland Realm and the merchants of Lake-town.
Several boats bobbed on the docks, and dozens of Elves waited in line to ferry goods across the water.
But when the expedition arrived—flanked by a thousand Elven soldiers—everything stopped.
All heads turned.
Gasps rippled through the crowd as Legolas and Tauriel stepped forward. The traders bowed at once.
"Hail, Prince of the Woodland Realm. Captain Tauriel."
Legolas gave a solemn nod. "This place is about to burn. It will become a battlefield. All citizens of the Woodland realm—return home immediately."
"Yes, my lord!"
Not a soul hesitated. The Elves gathered their belongings and turned back at once.
Nearby, several human boatmen looked on anxiously as their customers vanished before their eyes.
One among them—a tall, weathered man with a strong frame and quiet authority—stepped forward and asked respectfully, "My lords… what is happening?"
Legolas opened his mouth, but Kaen raised a hand and stepped forward instead.
"What is your name?" Kaen asked.
The man blinked, taken aback, but replied evenly, "Bard."
Legolas's brows rose. "The heir of Girion?"
Bard nodded. "Yes."
Girion—last King of Dale—had been the final sovereign of Men in the North before the dragon came. A century ago, Smaug descended from the sky and razed Dale, the city that stood before Erebor.
Girion led a brave resistance, wielding black arrows forged by Dwarves. Though the city fell, it was said he had struck the dragon once, tearing free a scale from its chest.
Before his death, he sent his wife and children to safety in Lake-town, entrusting them with the last black arrow—his legacy of vengeance.
Now, his blood lived on.
Bard, his descendant, was a man of integrity—skilled, brave, and just. A warrior at heart and a guardian of his people. In the original tale, it was he who loosed the final arrow, piercing the dragon's heart and avenging his line.
He would later become the King of Dale, rebuilding the kingdom with gold given by the Dwarves.
And because his bloodline carried the mark of kings, the Elves had long watched him from afar.
Middle-earth respected blood. As with Thorin, who remained a prince even after a century of exile, Bard too was seen by the wise as a rightful heir.
Once, the Kingdom of Dale and the Kingdom Under the Mountain had been twin pillars—two realms joined in purpose.
Dale farmed, wove, and sustained; Erebor forged, mined, and crafted.
One provided food, the other power.
The royal houses were close. In fact, a century ago, Thorin had heard much of Girion in his youth.
Now, seeing the heir before him, Thorin stepped forward and offered a slight bow.
"You may not know me," he said, "but I knew your forefather—King Girion of Dale."
Bard frowned, puzzled. "And you are?"
"I am Thorin Oakenshield, Prince of the House of Durin, heir to the Kingdom Under the Mountain."
The name struck like lightning.
Bard's expression darkened.
For centuries, the people of Lake-town had passed down a grim prophecy:
Should the Dwarves of Durin ever return, they will awaken the dragon's wrath—and Lake-town will burn.
Thus, Bard's reaction was not unwarranted.
"I do not think your arrival here is a blessing," he said coldly.
"If they hadn't come," Gandalf interjected, "your doom would be far greater."
He stepped forward, eyes firm. "Son of Girion, you may not know it yet, but a host of Orcs now marches for the Lonely Mountain."
Saruman nodded. "If these Dwarves had not returned, you would be the ones facing the Red-Eyed Orcs."
Knowing Bard's lineage, none in the party saw reason to hide the truth from him. Nor could they, even if they tried.
Kaen added grimly, "The Woodland Realm has already come under attack. The next target will be you."
Bard turned to the Elves for confirmation.
Legolas and Tauriel both nodded solemnly.
The weight of truth settled heavy on Bard's shoulders.
He asked, voice hard, "Then what is your intent, bringing an army here?"
Thorin stepped forward, his voice resolute.
"To slay the dragon."
Bard's eyes widened. "You're mad. Two kingdoms couldn't defeat him, and you think you can?"
"What will you fight him with?"
Kaen stepped in.
"We have a plan," he said calmly. "If you join us, you'll know it. But we don't have time to argue. We must speak to the Master of Lake-town and begin evacuating the people. Will you guide us?"
Bard snorted. "The Master? Hah…"
He gave a bitter laugh.
"If that dragon comes, he'll be the first to run."
...
In the end, Bard relented.
He agreed to lead them into Lake-town—and to serve as their guide.
He knew he could not stop these people, not with an Elven army behind them.
And so, he walked ahead in silence, ready to see what these strangers would dare to do.